


Shot Through the Head and You're to Blame

by PositivePumpkin



Series: Whumptober 2019 [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Discorporation (Good Omens), Gun Violence, NaziFuckFace/NaziTwat is the real otp, Nazis, Other, Temporary Character Death, World War II, alternate title: angel with a pistol, i love it when the ineffable husbands hurt each other, in that its a discorporation rather than a permanent death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-29 01:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20954321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: Whumptober 2019 prompt: Gunshot





	Shot Through the Head and You're to Blame

Crowley groaned as he came to. He couldn’t see where he was, which was unusual except for the cloth over his eyes. The demon tried to remember how he got here, what brought him to this situation.

He had been looking for someone, a contact. The man never appeared, instead a woman showed up. She certainly looked familiar, perhaps only in passing, but it was enough to distract him as he had been bashed over the head. Which explained his nasty headache.

Before Crowley could do anything about the headache, the ropes tying him up, or the sack over his head, he heard voices. German voices. Which meant, more than likely, he had been snatched up by Nazis. No big deal, this situation could surely be salvaged.

Someone pulled the cloth off his head, Crowley had been prepared with a smirk, but he hadn’t been prepared to see Aziraphale. His eyes widened, and the men standing next to the angel flinched back at the sight of them. Crowley barely got out the first syllable of Aziraphale’s name before his jaw was clenched painfully shut. Which was quite rude. They’d never used their powers on each other, at least not like this.

“Hello, Mr. Double Agent,” Aziraphale said, calm as he could be. The normally quite expressive angel was actually doing a bang-up job keeping his cool. Crowley suspected that it might be from years of dealing with the wankers upstairs, but he couldn’t voice that with his mouth still held firmly shut. “We know your… true allegiance is, shall we say mislaid,” the angel continued, as if this situation wasn’t completely backwards, “now, I suggest you tell us what secrets you’ve been selling, dear boy.”

Crowley of course, couldn’t speak with his mouth sealed shut, so instead, he lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head to one side. The demon was rewarded with a twitch of angelic lip, but also punished as one of the men stepped forward and smacked him hard across the face with the butt of the gun he was holding. As he lifted his head back up, the barrel was pressed harshly against his temple.

“I would suggest you begin with the speaking up,” the assailant, who Crowley now mentally dubbed as NaziFuckFace, spoke harshly with a very thick German accent. The other man, who Crowley decided was now NaziTwat, shuffled uncertainly from foot to foot. He kept staring at Crowley’s eyes, then to NaziFuckFace, briefly resting on Aziraphale, and once more back at Crowley’s eyes.

“What is he?” NaziTwat asked, quietly to Aziraphale. It might not have been meant for Crowley’s ears, but he was a demon and had better senses than most.

“A traitor to the regime,” Aziraphale said tonelessly, but Crowley could see the tightness in his jaw, could see the way his eyes took in the blood on Crowley’s cheek. The demon wasn’t sure what Aziraphale was meant to be doing here, but so far it hadn’t looked to be a whit of good. What the Heaven was an angel doing hanging about with a bunch of Nazi halfwits? “Perhaps I could speak to him for a moment?” Aziraphale’s Grace pushed out, a _suggestion_ in his words.

“Right, I suppose that would be allowed,” NaziFuckFace said right before he lowered the gun. Before Crowley could relax, the gun went off. The demon groaned, harsh and guttural as it was muffled by his clenched teeth. “There, now we should have nothing to worry about,” NaziFuckFace smiled toothily before leaving with NaziTwat.

“Bloody fucking Hell Angel!” Crowley seethed, as time stopped around them. The demon was hissing violently as he grabbed at his thigh, the bonds holding him sliding easily off in the face of infernal anger. “What the bleeding Heaven are you doing here?” He knew he probably looked a sight, fangs elongating and black scales appearing under his eyes, but damn it all, that fucking hurt!

“I could ask you the same question,” Aziraphale huffed, though he fretted at the hem of his sleeves when he looked at Crowley’s leg. “Are you going to fix that?” He gestured to the bloody leg, demonic black blood barely standing out against those insufferably tight black trousers.

“I’m here, because I got bleedin’ jumped! What are you doing here? Working with Nazis doesn’t seem very angelic Aziraphale,” Crowley’s voice was becoming quite sibilant due to the stress of the situation, but he made no move to heal his injured leg. No, he was going to sit there and suffer until Aziraphale did something about it.

“Oh, I, well, that is to say,” Aziraphale’s face flushed with embarrassment, and a small amount of pride. Enough that Crowley could taste it in the air on his serpent’s tongue. Aziraphale licked his lips before speaking once more, “I was approached to make a deal with some Nazis, and afterwards, a woman, a British spy asked me to help the nation by helping set up these Nazis.”

Something about that smelt fishy to Crowley, and he hated fish. He raised an eyebrow before trying to sprawl back into his normal casual lean, when the pain of his leg reminded him of its existence. He hissed through his teeth before Aziraphale huffed and came forward. The Divine sort of miracles always made his skin itch, but it was worth it to have the angel dote on him. “Be careful Aziraphale, I don’t trust this set up you’ve got going here, doesn’t seem right,” Crowley muttered.

“My dear, I think I know evil when I see it, I’ve been thwarting it since the beginning,” the angel had the nerve to look haughty, as if he’d done any real thwarting. Not with Crowley as his opponent, never really did any. Unless suddenly the definition of ‘thwarting’ meant ‘going on dinner dates with your hereditary enemy,’ in which case, yes, Aziraphale did tons of ‘thwarting.’

“Can’t hold this much longer Angel, what’s the plan then?” Crowley sighed, already mentally tired from all this nonsense, not to mention the physical exhaustion beginning to seep in.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to tell them you don’t have any information,” Aziraphale hummed, as if it would really be that simple. Crowley at least, didn’t think it would be. He was pretty sure this encounter was going to end in discorporation at this rate.

“Very well, Angel, lets see how that works,” Crowley waved the restraints back on and started time back up. The pair waited, idly for the two Nazis to return. It didn’t take them long, perhaps an intervention on Crowley’s part who desperately wanted to just get this over with.

“What did he tell you? Anything interesting?” NaziFuckFace asked, he was idly rubbing his pistol with his thumb, the index never leaving the trigger. NaziTwat meanwhile edged around Aziraphale, eyeing the angel uncertainly.

“Nothing of any value I’m afraid,” Aziraphale smiled as disarmingly as he could manage. He fretted at the hems of his sleeves, wearing down the already old fabric where threads had already begun peeking out.

“A pity,” NaziFuckFace seemed upset for all of a second before levelling the gun and shooting Crowley in the throat. Crowley jerked back and began choking on his blood. What looked like black ichor to the demon and angel looked like normal blood to the humans.

Aziraphale gasped and snatched the gun out of NaziFuckFace’s hands, he looked a mix between heartbroken and horrified. And the human laughed, “not much of a stomach for blood, yes?” Crowley was choking, gasping, wheezing and made a point to spit blood at NaziFuckFace. Shit, he was going to discoporate slowly, if they didn’t get out of here so he could heal himself. “Here,” NaziFuckFace fixed Aziraphale’s hold on the gun and levelled it at Crowley’s forehead, “if you do not wish to watch him die slow, like dog, then end it for him.”

Aziraphale’s hand was trembling, but the human held it firm and pressed the barrel against the centre of Crowley’s forehead. Crowley’s eyes opened slowly, and he gave a nod, so slight the humans would have missed it. Aziraphale swore in his mind, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.


End file.
